As sure as death, writers have those bloodied moments – frenzied passings of time made up of the abandonment of passion and craft for fear and self-consciousness. But there is Good, and some of us have seen the Good. People are willing to connect, to truly read and listen and think about the words we’re saying at once so eagerly and timidly. The words are Gods and Devils: they elevate us and bring us toward the things we live for, and they castrate all sense of accomplishment – el Diablo whispering into our little ears about failure and competition.
You cannot write. You cannot write. You cannot write.Yes, I can. Can I?
You cannot write.
NaNoWriMo is the doorway to heaven, and the only way to get there is by taking Hell’s carriage. We’re riding bound in lace handcuffs upon red leather seats, and the world passing is as beautiful as a God could ever create, and we are left watching the glory without the drive to recreate it.
I think November, in all its cold, marooned sorrow, is the time where the veils begin lifting. The year is ending - and time is but a dream, really – but we ritualistically and inherently set ourselves to say goodbye to the days of X year. Goodbyes are awful reminders of mortality, and with the solstices cradling change, writing in November forces us to rid of all that pregnant sorrow, and joy and truth. We are dying to give life, and this is our malady.
It is dark as the day ends early for us in the East Coast, and writing this massive, shining sun within seems to be snuffed by the external things: seasonal affective disorder for many of us, stitching up the dreams of our year and pulling from within us the strength to be alight amidst a time characterized by a the devils telling us, no, no you are not going to finish this.
It is a time of endings, but the writing is an infant: new, sprawling, flailing – caught up in our infirmaries and in our heartbeats. The slower your heartbeat, the more blood it needs.
But this is how it us, the devils and the gods are out there singing with the leaves. Do you hear that? It’s your voice in between.
My good has come in the form of a few things:
I’ve been published in Commonline Journal for “For The Bare Orange Tree” http://common-line.com/2009/09/poetry-by-lisa-marie-basile.html
And at Vox Poetica for, “Gael’s Mother III” http://poemblog.voxpoetica.com/2009/10/21/gaels-mother-iii.aspx
And I’m working on NaNoWriMo slowly: a collection of vignettes and poems: My NaNoWriMo http://www.nanowrimo.org/eng/user/253995
Thanks for reading. Sincerely.